Ep V: Chapter 33

“Why is there a ship here?” Myra asks, baffled.

“You really don’t know?” Enthea asks absently, shining the light deeper into the cavity. This used to be an engine. There’s no telling how much of the spacecraft is still intact, or how to reach it, but there should be a maintenance hatch somewhere.

“Should I?” Myra asks, lifting the hem of her dress to pick her way over jagged metal.

“You didn’t listen during the history lesson with the hunt? There has to be a ship here. It’s how you got your lovely wildlife. The chanwolves.”

“Wait, what?” Myra says worriedly, then falls silent as she understands.

They’re in far enough that the sounds of the storm are muffled.

Enthea turns around and shines the light, then pans it upward, revealing the two hundred kilograms or so of legs, tentacles, and teeth clinging to the ceiling.

Enthea gently pulls Myra behind her.

“Quietly,” she murmurs, beginning to back up. She keeps her light and her eyes on the chanwolf, whose glassy gray eyes follow them. Sticky mucus drips from the wickedly-pointed teeth.

“There’s a door,” Myra whispers, near panic.

“Open it,” Enthea whispers back, teeth clenched.

“It’s stuck.”

“Try harder.”

They both wince at the squeal of metal as a seal breaks. The tentacles rustle and the creature creeps closer.

“Don’t try it,” Enthea warns the chanwolf.

Myra opens the door and yanks Enthea through, slamming it behind them. Together, they pull the heavy lock into place, nearly tripping over the old, corroded supplies left behind by the engineers who once crewed this vessel. It’s a tiny, dark room, but at least they have it to themselves.

Enthea listens at the door for a moment, then relaxes.

“All right,” she says, massaging her sore shoulder.

“Did you use your Jedi magic on it?” Myra asks, awed.

“No,” Enthea replies, wincing slightly at the pain when she squeezes. “Just luck.”

“Oh.” Myra swallows. “Are we safe?”

“For now.” Enthea inspects the remains of her outer robe, which has not fared well. She takes it off and hands it to Myra, who gratefully pulls it on, and then seats herself on a crate.

Enthea gazes at the ceiling, listening to the storm reverberating through the hull. Moments pass, and the noise out there only grows more violent. Just as Scora said, the windows of good weather for these hunts are small.

“So it’s true,” Myra says.

“What is?”

“Someone’s after Scora. Do you think she’s all right?”

“I don’t know. But that wasn’t an **** attempt,” Enthea says, kneeling. She’s tempted to pace, but it’s better to meditate. “They just wanted hostages for ransom. A party of rich tourists is an easy target.”

“This is a disaster.”

“Probably not,” Enthea says. “I destroyed their transport. Scora’s probably all right. They had to retreat. They couldn’t take hostages with no way to get them back to their ship. It’s all right.”